Reborn
by WildMeiLing
Summary: A very short story of how a prince found a young woman to help him escape his royal destiny. Philippe and Helen.


_I may not own these characters, but ah! what fun I have with them. Thanks so much to Meg Cabot and Disney and whomever else for graciously letting me play around with their creations._

 _And thanks, as always, to anyone kind enough to stop by and read._

* * *

The sky had been threatening rain all day. Finally, in the late afternoon, the heavens opened up and a deluge pummeled the earth. Everyone scurried for cover, huddling in the hallways as they waited for the classrooms to empty out, or dashing toward the student union, umbrellas popping open and bobbing across campus.

Philippe joined the crush of students under the covered walkway leading up to the library. He dropped his bag next to his feet and bent forward, vigorously tousling his hair to shake out the water. He straightened up and saw no one gawking at his actions, and for the hundredth time, he reveled in his state of near-anonymity. With a contented sigh, he leaned his shoulder against a slender column, then watched a stream of smoke sail past him. He automatically turned toward the source. The smoking student leaning on the other side of the column saw Philippe look at him, and he held out the pack of cigarettes he had just been about to tuck back into the side pocket of a rucksack. Philippe smiled and shook his head.

He might be an open-minded, life-loving, twenty-one year old prince at a university in a foreign country, but he hadn't taken up smoking. He turned back to gaze into the rain, and his smile widened into a grin. He could hear his mother's lovely, lilting voice as it chimed a musical threat to him and his brother: "If you start smoking cigarettes, I guarantee they will not kill you. Because I will."

He had to admit, he loved the way they smelled. He took a deep breath, a secondhand enjoyment of the wickedly alluring habit.

Philippe's column-mate captured his attention once more, muttering something about a drenched loon. He followed the direction of the young man's stare to see what had prompted the derisive scoffing.

Everything else faded into the background - the chatter, the cigarettes, the people - and without willing himself to do so, he was walking. He walked as though in a trance, and there was nothing but the smell and sound of the rain as it drove down around him. He walked away from the sidewalk full of students, from the shelter of the covered walkway, from propriety, from reason and common sense, from everything he had ever known. He moved steadily toward a girl who was standing alone in the middle of the grassy expanse before the library, her head tipped up, her face at once peaceful and expectant. He watched her long hair curling into tendrils, her perfect shape emerging as the rain plastered her long, filmy dress to her body.

He moved to stand in front of her, taking in her alabaster arms relaxing at her sides, the rain-splattered skin, water droplets on dark eyelashes. He lost sight of everything else as he studied her pose of surrender. She was beautiful, simply because she was there, because she existed.

The burden of his identity, of his destiny, swathed in layers of self-deprecating humor and escapist tendencies and outright denial - it slipped from his shoulders, and for the first time ever in his life, he felt weightless.

She spoke. He was captivated.

"Keep waiting. It will happen soon."

He was vaguely aware that raindrops were no longer pelting him. They had slowed down and were becoming a feathery mist.

She opened her eyes. He fell into them and was lost.

She smiled. He died and was reborn.

"Look behind you."

With great effort, he loosened his gaze from his enchantress and cast a noncommittal glance over his shoulder. He did a double take, and turned all the way around.

Before his eyes, an arc of faint, fuzzy color emerged against the backdrop of the quartz-gray sky. It brightened until each emboldened stripe of color burst with promise of biblical proportions.

He had seen rainbows before, or so he had thought. He took in his surroundings. Everything was new. He turned back around to the girl. She smiled at him, not at all fazed by what must have been his sodden, bedraggled appearance. Even drenched, she looked radiant, glistening in the light of the returning sun.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," he responded, surprised somehow to hear his own voice again, as if he hadn't spoken in an age. "I'm Philippe."

Her sensitive, serious eyes widened. "You are _called_ Philippe. That doesn't tell me who you _are_."

He remained standing, perfectly upright, while his soul fell down and worshipped at her feet.

* * *

Victor had known Philippe since the prince was an infant. In fact, he had been hired just before Philippe was born - an extra security guard for the queen while the second-to-the-throne was waiting to make his grand entrance into the world. Victor had given him piggyback rides, and, on one unfortunate occasion, changed his diaper. He had watched the child grow happily, somewhat haphazardly, into the body of a man. But he knew his royal charge had a great deal of maturing to do on the inside. The boy who had contentedly spent his childhood and adolescence in second place was now nearly grown, and facing the possibility of moving into the first slot.

The metaphorical weight of the Crown grew heavier on Philippe's regal brow, and Victor knew it was scaring the hell out of him.

He watched the unfolding of the rain-soaked scene from a discreet distance, and rolled his eyes. He was no soothsayer. He had no extrasensory perception. He could not predict specifics. But he had a pretty good idea of what was coming.

 _Merde_ , he thought, flicking his cigarette to the ground. (He loved being away at college with the prince so he could smoke again.) He made a note to call security and request backup.

Love made Philippe craftier than ever, and heightened his already well-honed set of evasion tactics. Victor was going to need more manpower.

* * *

 _Note: It's done for now. This came about after a discussion with another writer quite some time ago, who got me thinking about characters other than Clarisse and Joe. (I know! I can't believe it either.) We discussed a much bigger project, but that has been shelved. In the meantime, I love this little scene, and since I felt it could stand on its own, I couldn't resist putting it out here._


End file.
